Saturday, March 25, 2017

Grandma Bonnie turned 70 this week and we celebrated it with high tea at Auntie Lexis' house.

We had taken turns to say what we liked best about Grandma and there was a general consensus that we liked her so much because she always encouraged everyone and got behind everybody in whatever they were doing. Everyone found it hard to nail down exactly what we liked best about Grandma because her best quality is pushing everybody else ahead of her. We like her because she makes us feel good about ourselves. She is a selfless promoter and facilitator of whatever we're doing. Piano playing, raising chickens, raising kids.... She is never happier than when she is in the background watching everybody thrive.

Mom - you are a relentless source of love and encouragement. I can not recall the last time I heard you complain about anything. I pray I can be as faithful, forgiving, and long-suffering a mother as you have been for Alexis and I. You really are quite a lady. You are the gatherer of our family and you keep us knitted together. I love you so much and am so very thankful for you. May God bless and keep you, mom. He is faithful to "present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy." Jude 1:24

Love from your girls, Kathleena and Alexis

Granda's sweet new bling earnings form her lovely husband! Diamonds are a girls best friend...

Friday, March 24, 2017

After 21 days of waiting... they are here. So far 11 of the 14 eggs we set hatched, which was about 11 more than I thought we'd get. There is nothing going on around here now other than chick-watching.

We watched a few of the chicks hatch from pipped egg to wet little dumpling. It takes about an hour for them to really make it out fully and the humidity clouds up the windows so it's hard ot capture with the camera.

My anti-feminist leanings have very little
to do with social-political constructs or my like or dislike of Trump and his
government. My departure from feminism
has almost everything to do with base, self-serving, pragmatism. Feminism was a very cruel mistress. I gave Naomi Wolf and the erogenous Madame
de Beauvoir all I had in my late teens and early twenties. My loyalty to the ideology required a
dedication akin to that of Baal worshippers and involved similar amounts of
blood and idiocy.

You will be wont to blame my failed
feminist journey on the cultural failures of the day:the lack of affordable daycare, the quality
of said care, maybe the residual misogyny at work, the mal-adjustment within a
partnership to relieve the burdens of work-life balance… But I would refute all
of these arguments.Feminism is a failed
ideology in practice.

I was in the military for 11 years and at
no time was I overlooked, underemployed or discriminated against based on my
gender.There was never pay or promotion
inequity.I also availed myself of the best
childcare and support options.I had a
live in nanny, who not only loved my children, but also washed my clothes and
cooked my meals.I had a cleaner,
weekly.I spent ample amounts of me time
at the spa. It was a well-supported
lifestyle.All the glories of a society
in which we facilitate lower income women to support higher income women
were employed.The social and economic impact
of this postmodern labour relationship is beyond my education and is outside of
the scope of this writing, but someone should write a thesis on that.What this
open letter is about is the failure of feminism in the personal realm.All the societal propaganda feminists roll
out: self-fulfillment, female empowerment, advancement of personal talents
and ultimate liberation from men and motherhood, was empty, ultimately false, and yielded
the fatal malcontent that Sylvia Plath wrote about, lived, and later embraced
in her suicide.

The insipid truth is that the feminist
movement cares nothing about the long list of ‘ments’, but only power.None of the propaganda I devoured between the
ages of 8 and 25 yielded any tangible good when the stuff hit the proverbial
fan.When I had my children, none of the
paper walls I had put up about shared-parenting, work-life balance or the
mythological-ness of mommy-feelings provided any authentic advantage.The talking paper I had memorized was
completely insufficient to screen out the absolute panic, sometimes numbness, and always sweet-homesickness I now met.

Certainly I was not above the hormonal
hyperbole that follows childbirth.But
this was not temporary, situational hyperbole; this was the sustained onslaught
of unsustainable mandates. I had to work and contribute to the advancement
of feminism.I had to maintain personal
autonomy from my husband (who I would have called ‘my partner’ at that
time.)I owed it to my mother’s and my
grandmother’s generation, yes, and to my employer-god to carry the flag of
emancipation up to the glass ceiling and smash it with my fists until it broke
or until I died.So many of us yield to
the latter. What feminism did not do,
and what the pharmaceutical companies have taken on as their raison d’etre, was to offer practical freedom and peace.

When the worshippers of Baal met Elijah on
Mount Carmel, their impotent god did not answer them.Their vacant god did not see or hear their
pleading.There was no bandaging of wounds
after they cut their arms up and ran amuck begging this god to just show up. “Perhaps of we pray louder?” Please, show up.Ativan can offer us an internal ceasefire,
but no peace.

If I could somehow reach Silvia now, if I could just say to her, “Your lovely writing, it can wait.The children are so sweet and love you so
much….. and this man with you, too.They
all need and want and deserve you more than these little scribblings can.Forget literary posterity.That malicious god will never love you.Yield to what you truly want, not what
they’ve told you you must do.”Oh
Luther, you were right again.We can
never earn our salvation; neither can we clamor, grasping at emancipation.If Sylvia had known how fast they would grow,
how delicious it could be to rest in her role, she would have volumes and
volumes more of herself to publish.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

I am a closet Britian-lover. Mostly the scones and the tea and Kate Middletown's clothes, I'm that kind of Monarchist. I came across this quote from a printed campaign poster I was looking t buy on Etsy:When the British naval hero Nelson perished, A proclamation was issued:“Britons!Your Nelson is dead!Trust not in an Arm of Flesh, but in the Living God!What said the brave Nelson, Duncan, Howe?‘God hath given us the Victory!’His Arm is not cold in Death, nor shortened, that it cannot save.Britons!Fear God,Fear Sin,And Then Fear Nothing!”I love it.The Brits don't mince words. Just meat.

Monday, March 6, 2017

The Aviation Museum had their annual lego contest and I am very proud to say that the kids came in first in all three of their respective age categories. This was the first year Esther built her creation completely on her own and without any help or guidance from Cole or Gabe. She came up with the idea for a Blue Angel Fighter Jet and she researched it on google photos and created it without any help. She presented very confidently and I was so proud of her. The kids got $50 to spend at the awesome gift shop.

Big thanks Uncle Jordan who was a good uncle and ran around taking picture for me because I am a delinquent mother and didn't bring a camera...

Jackson won "cutest and most fun three year old." As judged by us...

Brent, judge extraordinaire, was missed by all.

Essy setting up for the judges... tense moments...

Gabe did a path-tracking EV3 set up. It was a mock maintenance bay. He even made his own name tag. Extra points.